Books Poetry

Clear

At the stationary store the quiet Asian man serves with veiled daughter at his side, and I buying paper to create my symmetry of black on white turned to find psychotic blacked killer wittering at my side. The air was still between us three, we held our lives like a new-born baby, unable to speak letting fear slide into the concrete floor beneath our feet, felt the wind pass our nostrils, intake of breath, door, street, as mumbling obscenities, he turned to leave.

*

Men buy women

houses

cars

candelabra

perfume

dead animals bred in cold climates,

they stand on the outside looking in

try to tip toe through the maze.

I’m alone in my midnight shell

listening to the whisper of the sea

listening to angels voices

calling me down and beyond.

I’m a white tiger in an English village street

watching with curiosity

searching for luxuriant undergrowth

to stretch and snarl in.

I’m alone in my own skin

watching the brusque chopping of the waters,

watching.

*

On the edge of infinity the great wastes of the galaxy stretch beyond our comprehension, if I wait that long on a clear night I might find you waiting.